


I loath to go back to sleep

by Leftleg



Series: Don't replace what can be fixed. [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Accidental Death, Android depression, Fluff and Angst, Grief, Short, Suicidal Thoughts, curiosity about death, hjsdsjklafhjkdv, not really hankcon but eh, oof, read at your own risk lol its midnight, sorta beta read not really though, very angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-06
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-07-07 00:52:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15897558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leftleg/pseuds/Leftleg
Summary: Maybe if he did a little more of this, or a little less of that, Connor would feel complete.shit also this entire thing is fucking whiplash





	I loath to go back to sleep

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this after I had a mental breakdown bear with me.

 

* * *

Amanda was ruthless tonight. 

She was reclined in a low seat, her legs crossed, her hands folded in her lap as she eyed him walking up to her in the garden. Last he checked, he hadn't died but went into a shutdown. It wasn't self-issued either, the deviant had grabbed him there specifically on the scruff of his neck, fingers digging into the faux skin and into his artificial bones, there something clicked, and out he went.

"Connor."

"Amanda."

"You've become troublesome, haven't you heard?" She cocked her head to the side, looking him up and down with distaste. "You've been busy doing all the  _wrong_ things."

Connor blinked.

"You seem to be doing everything but your job. The one thing you've been specifically programmed to do, yet you fail every time. Is it on purpose? Are you being difficult on purpose?" Her voice was leveled, but there was deep disdain and hatred beneath it that coated the ends of her sentences with a black venom. He swallowed nothing, he didn't know why she was so upset, he wasn't dead, why was she upset?

"We've been more than patient with you. Time after time, after time, after  _goddamn_ _time_. Is it that we're giving you too many chances? Hm? Is that it? Too many excuses to  _fuck up_?" She got up from the chair, the look of pure anger and disappointment never leaving her aged features. He felt terrible, like a child about to be beaten. "Do you think that because you can't die permanently and that everytime you fuck up and waste another body, we'll keep pumping you out of the facility like human-sized roaches?" 

She got real close to his face, staring up into his eyes. 

"Connor, you're becoming a _burden._ " It was as blunt as an old knife but cut deep like a new one. He winced.

"I-"

"Shut up." She began walking away from him. "You _are_ a burden. A hinderance on this investigation and the lives of these detectives. Every mistake you make destroys a chance at solving this in time, do you understand?"

"I-yes.."

"Then why do you keep doing it? Is there a rush you get when you're staring down the barrel of a gun? Or when you're chasing deviants from rooftop to rooftop? Please, enlighten me."

He couldn't. He didn't have those answers. Even now, this was a mistake, he didn't mean to get hurt and wind up here. He couldn't find anything to say.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize to  _me_ , Connor. Apologize to Hank. To Gavin. To  _Fowler_. Those are the people you need to apologize to,  _you're_ the one wasting their time. You really think Hank enjoys this? Seeing you die over and over and over again before his very eyes, only to see you walk back in the next day like nothing happened? Hm?" She walked back to her chair, sitting snugly in it, crossing her legs once again. "I can tell you, Connor, he  _hates_ it. He _abhors_ it. Do you know why?"

He didn't. He shook his head.

"No."

"You remind him of his son."

Oh.

"Oh."

She took a deep breath, then sighed, her shoulders tensing and her face somehow hardening more than it was, “That's why he hates you. Do you understand that, Connor? That he hates you because of that?” 

It was cold but it burned. It seared at his brain like an iron left on a shirt. It stung, it hurt.

“Yes.” He wasn't certain.

“Do you understand that you are unwanted? And that without you, his life would be much easier? See that without you, he wouldn't constantly be playing with that gun of his, yes?”

“Yes.”

"Every time you  _'die'_ , he is always there to witness it. Do you not think it takes a toll on him? Have you no sympathy for the man? He's suffering, Connor. All because of you. You understand?"

Why was she saying these things? They hurt him deeply, he never knew all of that. Never even wondered about it, so why was she attacking him like this about it? It wasn't his fault that Hank became attached to him! It was Hank's inability to cope with the loss of his child that did this- he hooked onto him because he was a form of "wishful thinking" for the elder man. Connor was what Hank wanted - a son. 

Silently, though agitated, Connor nodded meekly. 

“Good.” She looked him up and down. It made him shiver. "That should be motivation enough to do your job properly. The sooner you finish, the sooner you'll be back and out of his way." 

Before Connor turned to take his leave, she perked up, "And don't forget:  _you_ , are a replaceable machine, Connor. We have an upgraded you in the works as we speak. Keep up these shenanigans and  _watch_ how quickly you'll be stripped down and scrapped."

* * *

 Tonight, the city of Detroit looked sensational. 

Connor was silent, staring out over downtown Detroit from the high rooftop. It was going to be a blizzard, the early, fat white flurries dancing down around him and landing all over him and the scenery. That's what he felt like, a thing, a piece of the building. An unneeded, out of place pillar.

He shouldn't be up here.

He blinked at glowing Detroit.

He felt cold. A blizzard was coming.

He was thinking. Thinking too much. Processing. Reprocessing. Yellow, yellow, yellow, yellow….

He heard a siren down below. A firetruck. A fire during a blizzard.

If he could find the humor in it, he would have smiled.

He wondered if he should jump.

Calculate as he fell how high the building was and how quickly he was falling based off his weight and the angle at which he was falling. He wondered if he'd feel it if he hit the ground, every artificial bone in his body snapping and tearing upon impact, if he could hear the sound of him being bashed against the cold concrete, his pump breaking and his thirium, its dark blue, spilling out from him like wayward rivers from an ocean, droplets moving like racers in every direction from him, rumbling over every rock and coarse dip in the concrete.

He wondered about the reaction. Human or otherwise.

How will they feel? Will they scream? Will they turn their nose and walk away?

What would Hank think? Gavin? Amanda?

Yellow, yellow, yellow-

He took a cautionary step forward, foot touching the ice-covered ledge. He felt the soles give way- no grip, easy fall.

A red notification popped up before his eyes, warning about the risk- the danger of taking another step. He blinked it away.

If he fell, would it matter? Did he matter?

Would he be remembered?

No.

No.

_No._

_“No.”_  It shocked him, the voice, mousey and uneven. It didn't sound like him, but it was him. Yes, it was him. Scared? Scared? He's scared? Or is he miserable?

“No, it won't matter. I don't matter. A machine, I'm just a machine, right? I don't matter at all do I?”

He adjusted his foot on the ledge for better grip, grinding into the collection of hardening snow. He stepped the other one beside it.

The snow was picking up. A harsh wind, one that cut like a blade, hit him. It didn't hurt, it wasn't cold, yet still he shivered.

The message came again. He pushed it away.

“A tool. Replaceable.”

He dug his heels into the ice, the crunch was loud and scary.

It felt like the last sound he'd ever hear.

“Why do I feel this way? What's wrong with me?”

He peered over the ledge again, the world below feeling like it was moving deeper and deeper into the ground, a sinkhole beneath the city dragging it down to the molten core. He heard sounds, peaceful white noise. Sirens, honks screeching tires, and the whistle of the snow, their own chatter.

Snow. He liked the snow. It was a strange thing, fickle like life itself.

“I'm a machine. A robot. A tool.”

He grit his teeth, inching closer to the edge.

“I'm a tool. A replaceable _thing_. I'm not alive, I don't matter. As long as there are replacements and people to put them to use, I don't matter. No one matters.”

He arched his back, hands behind his back, resting on his tailbone, fingers hooked together. He could jump.

He could jump and prove it. Prove he didn't belong or mattered. That he wasn't important.

“There are others. I'm not the only one..”

The world beneath him began to spin to the left. Things didn't make sense.

Red. Red. Red. Red. Red. **_Red._ **

He could jump. He could jump right now.

Throw himself to the ground for the cops to peel him off the pavement.

He could jump.

_Fuck!_

He could do it. Do it now, right here.

Right now.

He was unneeded. Unwanted. Defunct. Useless.

Useless. Useless.

Did Hank think he was useless?

His pump began to overwork. It thumped like a human heartbeat. Anxiety. Fear.

A bubble formed in his chest, clawed up his throat and got stuck.

Did he…? Did he think…?

Did Hank?

Hank. Hank?

He could jump.

No, not _could._ He _wanted_.

He wanted to jump. Die?

No.

Maybe.

Perhaps.

Death was a figment to his people. It was an unobtainable, morbid dream that hung so closely, yet stood miles away. Yes, they could be shut down, but just as quickly, they could be rebooted. There was- _is_ \- no true death for technology. 

He didn't hear the door behind him open. He didn't hear the footsteps.

He should've been paying attention.

He should've paid fucking attention.

“Connor, what the hell're you doing out here? I've been looking for you all over Detroit!” Hank shouted at him from the rooftop door. He was clutching at the undersides of his jacket, trying to keep his hands as warm as possible. His hair, white already with age took on a different shade, the purer white of snowfall coating the hair with a fresh layer. Hank was freezing. Because he's a human, and humans can feel the cold. Can feel the pain of frostbite and freezing nerves.

He was freezing, and he was livid. Livid at Connor because he didn't tell him where he was going, didn't even text him, just up and left with no more than a weakhearted pat on Sumo's head. 

He was livid, but that didn't take his attention away from the fact that Connor was a misplaced snowflake from falling to his death 700 feet below. How could he miss that? He tried to tread lightly.

"I asked you a question, asshole! What the fuck are you doing up here?" He shouted as the wind picked up speed and the flurries turned to droves of fat white dots that fell out the sky with a vengeance as if with each tense moment that passed, the weather took it upon itself to show it in physical form what was not said.

So far, it was an icy rage.

“This pain, Lieutenant, feels like it'll never go away.” He shouted above the wind that howled in his ears and swirled around his head like freezing tornadoes. It was true, he was in pain, a pain he couldn't express in any words or facial features, only action. Only with direct, real action. Hank stepped forward with caution.

"Connor, the fuck are you on about?"

"I'm in pain, Hank." 

"I can see that." Hank stepped, "Connor, I need you to get down from there, do you hear me?"

Connor didn't move.

"Hank," He started, picking his eyes up from the white lights and dark figures below, staring ahead at the dark windows across the street, "Hank, do you hate me? Do you find me a nuisance? A burden?"

Hank was taken aback, he didn't expect this.

"Wh-what the fuck does that have to do with anything? Get the fuck down from there!"

He shook his head. "Hank, I need to know!" His voice sounded strange, the cold and the rough winds finally taking a toll on his voice box.

"Connor, get down! That's an order!"

"Is it true, Hank?! Everything she told me, is it true? Do you hate me?"

Hank was scared. Nothing poetic about it, he was frightened. Scared to death for Connor.

"Who said that, Connor? Huh? Who told you I hated you?"

"Is it because of your son? Is that it? You hate me because I remind you of him?" He was hoarse, choked up on tears he couldn't make, "I'm sorry for that, Hank! I didn't mean for you to hate me!"

"C-Connor shut the hell up and get down! I don't hate you for no fuckin' reason, but dammit, you're about to give me one!"

Connor didn't respond. Hank tensed. This was too stressful for the both of them, and any longer out in the cold, they'd both be frozen fucking goners.

"Connor, I swear if you fucking slip-"

"Hank...Hank, please tell me the truth..."

He shifted, hugging himself tighter now as he faced the blizzard's harsh breath against his face, the tiny ice shards sticking his exposed skin. Hank breathed. He had to give him what he wanted to get what he wanted, right?

"No, no it's not true." He said tiredly, as if it were some sort of defeat, to admit something like this. "Connor, you're-you're the best damn partner I've ever had." He said it slowly, tired, nervous.

Connor's shoulders relaxed slightly.

"R-really?"

"Yeah." He nodded, though Connor couldn't see him do it. Hank tried to think, and smiled, "Connor, you're the best detective I've met in all my years. I-I couldn't have asked for a better partner- shitty, annoying, not listening robot or otherwise."

"Is that true?"

"Yeah, kid, it's true." He sighed again, "Can I...tell ya a secret?"

Connor turned his head, though the wind was howling like a bastard, his upgraded hearing allowed him to hear even the faintest of sounds. He heard the change in Hank's voice, the sudden pitch told of even deeper genuineness.

"Yes."

"I," He wanted to lick his lips, but was afraid the cold would freeze them, "I love you, kid. Like my own son- just like you said. No matter how much of a dickshit idiot you can be, I wouldn't trade you for- _shit_ \- all the booze in the world." He took another step forward, "Connor, you're my partner. You're also practically my fucking  _ward_ at this point the way you're always around, but listen," he took a deep breath. Fuck, it was getting cold. "I wouldn't have it any other way, you hear me? I wouldn't trade this fucking mess of deviants and fucking coin tricks for  _anything_. You're a once in a lifetime find, kid, and dammit, I don't care what those fucks at Cyberlife tell you, me, or the fucking precinct- no upgrade, no new model or some shit,  would ever change that!" He moved even closer now, boots crunching the hardening snow on the rooftop. He reached out a hand to Connor's back, ready to grab the android when he turned around and took it. "So, will ya' please come down from there? We need to go home, Sumo's gettin' worried."

Connor took that to heart. Hank was being serious, every word that came from his mouth was spoken with so much truth and passion, that it hurt Connor to think that he had to create such a scene to find out. He winced at his own stupidity, his dramaticism had clouded his judgment. He should've known Hank felt this way, he felt this way about Hank too, as odd and deviant-like it sounded. If Hank were in trouble, he'd jump out and save him, permanent death or no- Hank was as special and important to him as his quarter, and he'd do anything to make sure that Hank knew that. 

Amanda was right about some things.

"Han-"

Connor turned quickly to face Hank, a pained expression on his features. He looked ready to burst into tears then, at Hank's words and at the sight of him there, hand outstretched for him to take to pull him off the ledge but-

Hank's eyes widened. Connor had turned a little too fast.

 _"Connor!"_ He yelled, running the short distance from his spot behind the other, that hand that was out in waiting for Connor's, now reached frantically for  _something_ on him to grab onto and yank onto the safety of the roof.

He was too far away. Too slow. 

Connor was falling. He slipped. 

He didn't jump.

He didn't want to jump! He didn't want to fall!

His vision became blurry, the wind pushed up against his back as he fell with a painful speed. He didn't know what to do but grab at the air above him, reaching out for the figure on the roof.

First was panic. Then there was peace. 

He was falling to his destruction. His memories moved to another identical copy of himself. He would be back with Hank tomorrow. Perhaps within the hour, even, and Connor found peace in that same idea that moments before had caused him so much pain and strife. He looked up towards the gray clouds overhead, the parade of snowfall drifting down and kissing his features as he passed office windows, barrelling down towards the vacant Detroit sidewalk. 

Peace.

Peace.

He would see Hank again, he didn't need to worry, and he was proven wrong by that same man. All that pain in his chest that wound itself into such a tight ball formed by Amanda's harsh words, disappeared into the warm foggy breath that escaped his lips when he said his final words.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> ALSO I know it's been some weeks but like, the title is a line from the wonderful song 'Sound and Color' by Alabama shakes and if you haven't heard it yet you need to that song embodied the FUCK out of Detroit for me.   
> :)


End file.
